


Five Career Paths Aziraphale and Crowley Never Followed

by Daegaer



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5 Things, AU, Angels, Anthropomorphic Personifications, Crime Scenes, Demons, Detective Noir, Gen, Historical, Humor, Lumberjacks, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-20
Updated: 2005-08-20
Packaged: 2021-01-30 04:09:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21421948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	Five Career Paths Aziraphale and Crowley Never Followed

"This is another fine mess you've got us into," the heavier man said, frowning.

The thinner man clicked his fingers, and a flame appeared above his thumb. He touched the flame to the fuse and watched it begin to hiss.

"It's all sorted now," he said. "Er. Perhaps we should run."

It was astonishing just how fast an apparently middle-aged overweight man could run. Aziraphale was back in the Bentley before Crowley.

"Come on, come on!"

The engine started up and the car shot forward as Crowley vaulted into the driving seat. They were half a mile away when they heard the explosion behind them. Aziraphale peered fretfully over his shoulder.

"I don't know that I'm really cut out for a life of crime," he whined.

* * *

Aziraphale looked up at the sound of the chainsaw. Crowley came sauntering back through the trees.

"I thought you were having a break?" Aziraphale said, nibbling his sandwich delicately.

"I found a tree infested with lesser crawling environmentalists," Crowley explained. "They were bleating about some blessed owl or other. Bloody owls."

"All that hooting," Aziraphale agreed. He offered Crowley a sandwich and some Earl Grey from his flask, and they had a peaceful and uninterrupted lunch. At last Aziraphale looked at his watch and sighed.

"No rest for the wicked," he said. "We should get back to work."

Crowley hauled him up and strolled off, swinging his chainsaw casually in his hand. Aziraphale watched him go.

Check shirts really _suited_ the demon, he thought.

* * *

It was a tough job, guarding the imperial harem in Istanbul, but someone had to do it, Crowley thought, lounging beside the lily-pool as one of the very minor concubines peeled him another grape. Of course, he and Aziraphale had certain advantages over the poor human bastards who shared the arduous task. No one had come after delicate bits of _their_ anatomy with sharp knives.

"Ladies, ladies," Aziraphale said, waving his appointment book around. "If I could have your attention? The Sultan would like someone a bit more exotic tonight, so if the northern Europeans could go and have a bath? I'll pencil you in for 10 o'clock, Jane, and Margaret, if you make sure you're still awake at midnight, in case a back-up is needed? Well, off you go! Don't forget to wash behind your ears!"

"Well handled," Crowley murmured. "Very organised of you. Have a grape."

"Oh, I don't know," Aziraphale said, "it's not long till dinner and I wouldn't want to spoil my appetite."

"I also have Turkish Delight," Crowley said, waving a hand in the general direction of the dish.

"Oh, in that case--" Aziraphale said, plumping down on the cushions. "Mmm, yummy."

It _was_ a tough job, Crowley thought. But they seemed to have it well in hand.

* * *

The dame who walked into Crowley's office was one hell of a looker, all in red from her sharp little hat to her gleaming high heels, with legs that could have knocked a man dead at twenty paces, and hair that gleamed like red gold melting in the fires of hell. She sashayed in and sat on the edge of his desk, crossing her pins in a way that made him forget all about ever being a heavenly choir boy.

"I'm looking to stir up some trouble, Mr Crowley," she said in a low voice, almost too deep for a woman. "I'm hoping you can help me."

"I'm sure I can, dollface," he said. "What sort of trouble are you looking for?"

"The end of the world," she said, with a throaty laugh.

"That's a lot of trouble for a little lady like you," he said, leaning forward.

"I can handle myself," she said. "And call me Carmine."

"You got a number I can call you at, Carmine?" Crowley said, not caring if the area code was 666, as seemed likely.

"I want your complete attention on this case," she said, "I want you to come with me now, so I know where to find you when I need you."

"You want me at your heels like a little puppy?" he said, grinning.

"That's the idea, Mr Crowley. When I need you, I'll whistle." Her voice dropped further, slow and sultry. "You know how to whistle, don't you?"

"Oh, _I_ do," Aziraphale said brightly, coming in from the back room with two steaming mugs of tea. "I'm really good at holding a tune, too! Crowley, you should have _said_ we had a client. I'd have made another mug of tea."

"Thanks for spoiling the mood," Crowley sighed, as Carmine stalked out the door.

* * *

"I think you'll find these numbers work rather better," Aziraphale said, handing over his calculations.

The man seemed quite pleased to be shown where he'd gone wrong, and was soon happily at work once more. Aziraphale pottered round his cluttered office until Crowley got back from the bathroom.

"What have you been up to?" Crowley asked, looking at the frantically working scientist.

"Oh, I was just helping Dr Oppenheimer with a few things," Aziraphale said.

Crowley peered over Oppenheimer's shoulder, and looked up with a frown.

"This is another fine mess you've got us into," he sighed.


End file.
